


Art & Blues

by MissKitsune08



Series: assorted drabbles [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissKitsune08/pseuds/MissKitsune08
Summary: Gift fic for ymirr-art-blog.Story 1: “Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snowflakes fall, each one a gem.” ―William Hamilton GibsonStory 2: “The man's best support is a very dear friend.” ―Cicero





	1. The First Snow

 A short drabble / comment fic based on an amazing sketch of Kres'ten'tarthi made by [ymirr-art-blog](http://ymirr-art-blog.tumblr.com/). Click on the picture to see a larger version. 

* * *

 

The falling snow marked the beginning of winter on Nirauan.

For humans, the winter came much earlier, when stormtroopers started to wear thermal undergarments, and when the officers decided it was too cold to use standard uniforms and took out the winter coats from their closets. Now, Vader forbid, while their Chiss colleagues would never engage in such human vice as laughing out loud, Parck would bet his rank plates that Commander Kres'ten'tarthi and the rest of this rogue phalanx shared at least a snicker in private at these preparations.

Just as it was Parck's time to smirk today, upon seeing the Chiss enchanted by the falling snow. Those unfortunate Chiss that were on duty could only watch in envy as their free comrades ventured outside and simply stood there as if transfixed, their glowing eyes raised up towards the sky, not bothered in the slightest by the fact that their uniforms were soaked through by the time the grass was covered by a blanket of snow.

"Commander Kres'ten'tarthi," Parck tried to grab the attention of the Chiss squatting in the snow, fingers grazing over the fluffy surface. However, the alien commander merely inclined his head, still staring up to the sky.

"Stent," Parck repeated, now addressing him in less formal manner. "You've been standing here most of the afternoon, even after all the other Chiss have left. While your species has adapted to this weather, your uniform is now drenched. Even a Chiss like you must feel the cold."

[Do you know the meaning of the ideogram for snow?] Stent said in absentminded tone, his attentions light years from the planet Nirauran.

Parck suppressed a sigh; not long after they had met, he had suggesting dropping the Chiss on an abandoned ice world while their human colleagues could have a shore leave on a tropical planet, after all, there were plenty of paradise words with an ice moon out there. The Chiss commander flat out rejected the idea, telling Parck that none of the ice worlds could possibly match the beauty of Csilla. In reality, though, all of these overly proud warriors felt incredibly homesick, and Parck could only imagine that now that the snow had fallen on Nirauan, the feeling of homesickness must have been amplified dramatically. Especially for this Chiss.

[Of course,] Parck replied in oddly accented Cheunh. “The cold beauty falling from the sky.”

Such was the meaning of the brushstrokes that combined together held the meaning of the complicated ideogram that loosely resembled a snowflake. It was too complicated for normal use, hence the word’s phonetic transcription. Still, Parck felt saddened that only the handful of human soldiers cared to learn the ancient calligraphy.

The corners of pale blue lips twitched in a small smile. The Chiss gave him a small nod in approval and closed his eyes. Now _that_   was mistake; one should never let his guard down. Parck's eyes gleamed mischievously as he threw the small ball of snow he had been holding in his hand, aiming for the head.

 

**THE END**

 

EDIT: See [THIS](https://78.media.tumblr.com/adbd041c198d3cb9ffff07a918a68b79/tumblr_p4ewcxOCY61rmzaluo1_540.jpg) picture. OMG, Ymirr, your art is a gift to this world. Please never stop drawing. 


	2. Imperial Blues

Based on a sketch made by [ymirr-art-blog](http://ymirr-art-blog.tumblr.com/).  “The man's best support is a very dear friend.” 

Technically, this is a continuation of [ The Legend of Thrawn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13309788), in which Admiral Parck visits Grand Admiral Pellaeon to offer a helping hand in the fight against the Yuuzhan Vong, however, it can easily be read as a stand-alone story.

If you read _Dark Tide II: Ruin_ , it’s clear that the Moff Council knows of the existence of the Empire of the Hand, which means hearing with the Moff Council must have happened one way or another:

 _“As always I find your commentary and advice useful, my moffs, but I must remind you that I command Imperial space. I wanted to inform all of you that I will be issuing a mobilization order that will activate all reservists and call some of those units into active duty. I will also issue a call to_ **_all of our covert forces, both within the Empire and without, to come to our aid. While some of you might have seen our hidden forces_ ** _as ones that would someday enable us to take back the galaxy, the Yuuzhan Vong threat is one we must defeat. We will need everything we can summon, and then some.” (from Dark Tide II: Ruin)_

This is my take on the hearing. (To new readers: Chiss in my headcanon identify other beings, mentally and verbally, with their full names.)

 

* * *

 

“Outrageous!” Moff [Kurlen Flennic](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Kurlen_Flennic)’s jowls shook with anger, his face contorted into a snarl. “You are no better than the Rebel scum that occupies the Imperial Center!”

Stent narrowed his eyes into mere slits in anger, his mind coming up with yet another scenario of the Yaga Minor’s governor meeting his untimely end; for the past hour, these relics of the so-called "Galactic" Empire had been chastising Voss Parck over the manner in which he ruled the Empire of the Hand in Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s absence.

A charter providing all members of the Empire of the Hand equal rights, regardless of their species or planet of origin; official recognition of mixed unions and full-fledged citizenship for the hybrid descendants resulting from such couplings, integration of both near-human _and_ non-human alien races into the Empire of the Hand’s legislative, judicial, and executive branches; their acceptance into the Empire of the Hand’s armed forces, until finally, going as far as allowing near-humans to join the ranks of StormTrooper Corps. (Dropping the prospect of non-human stormtroopers for the difficulty in logistics due to various sizes, shapes, and needs of the soldiers and the overall lack of uniformity.)

Only Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon seemed to realize that it was the humans who were the minority in the Empire of the Hand; before the _Admonitor_ ’s arrival, no one had ever seen a human being or heard of Galactic Basic. Now it become one of the local trade languages, and its growing importance and significance forced even the Chiss Ascendancy to finally acknowledge Galactic Basic as one of the main languages spoken in the Borderlands.

However, the number of humans were dwindling; the original crew was past the retirement age, and the number of male soldiers greatly over-weighted the number of female soldiers from the very beginning, meaning only a handful of Imperials could produce pure-blooded descendants.

Unfortunately, the Moff Council did not share Gilad Pellaeon’s open-mindedness or Voss Parck’s ability to think unconventionally. While technically the Grand Admiral could release him from the ordeal by ending the hearing session prematurely or by calling for a recess, this was a battle that Voss Parck needed to win without the other man’s help.

A soft sigh escaped Voss Parck. He may be an impressive actor of stoicism to the rest of the audience, but his façade was pointless against Stent’s twenty years of acquaintance with him. Stent could see that the human was finally close to snapping. Deep down, Voss Parck felt old, too old. _This_ was the real reason why he had sent Soontir Fel to deal with the Chiss Ascendancy.

Stent felt a twinge of shame, realizing that the General must have been subjected to similar treatment by the Chiss aristocras - who (in Stent’s personal opinion) suffered from too much genetic inbreeding - sticking their heads into ice rather than confronting the enemy before they posed a direct threat to their people.

“And have I already mentioned that I am married to an alien myself?” Voss Parck said cynically, his patience with Kurlen Flennic’s temper tantrum wearing thin; being compared to the bunch of anarchists and ex-smugglers who called themselves the New Republic these days was hardly something to take kindly.

Silence.

Even Kurlen Flennic, the last moff appointed directly by the Emperor himself, fell silent for a moment, stunned speechless, before exploding in rage once again.

“An Imperial admiral marrying some alien whore? Scandalous! You, sir, are the disgrace to the Imperial uniform!”

Stent finally stepped forward and placed a hand on Voss Parck’s shoulder in a gesture of silent support before addressing the Moff Council himself.

“I could not care less what you think of me, of the Chiss warriors under my command, or of other alien races serving the Empire of the Hand. But know this, you soft, complacent, human-centric _fools_ ,” he spoke in a tone that could have cut the glass.

“We do not have the obligation to come to your help in the time of need. We are the members of Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s Household Phalanx. As such, we live only to serve Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo and, through him, serve the Chiss.”

Stent stood tall and proud before the Moff Council, with his hands now put firmly behind his back, choosing his appearance as his weapon of choice for today; even aboard the _Admonitor_ most Imperials had found Chiss intimidating at first, and these humans hadn’t faced a Chiss warrior for more than a decade. In fact, Stent wouldn’t be surprised if some of them had chosen to boycott Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s hearing with the Moff Council before the Syndic had started his military campaign.

All but one flinched from the intensity of the glowing red gaze. [ Ephin Sarreti](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Ephin_Sarreti). Perhaps there was hope for this institution after all.

“We can go; leave, never to return. There are plenty of threats that pose danger to the Chiss Ascendancy, but not to you. You are no warriors, you are mere politicians. Without us, you are as good as dead. With us, you have at least a chance to survive.”

Stent made a contemptuous sound; perhaps he should have chosen a blade as his weapon of choice for today, doing Gilad Pellaeon a favor by slitting all their throats.

“Now, what will it be?”

**THE END**

 

Huge thanks to Hazel_Inle for proofreading both ficlets!

 

* * *

 

 

**EDIT: A bonus drabble!**

“That was quite a speech you had there, Commander.” Moff Sarreti gave the Chiss warrior a small but polite bow as he walked toward them after all the other governors had left in outrage.

Parck gave the man a long, piercing look. Young as he was, the man’s expression was carefully composed, and he carried himself with his head high and with grace and composure. The faint smile on his lips was straight from the diplomatic protocol of the Imperial Court.

He suppressed a smirk as he watched the politician desperately keep up the facade as his hand was being crushed in Stent’s durasteel grip. It wasn’t the smartest idea to offer a handshake to a Chiss who had been holding himself back from breaking their necks barehanded the entire time.

Finally, Sarreti’s face contorted in pain and he let out a soft moan; as if on cue, Stent immediately released his grip, the glowing eyes brightening up with a small spark. There was a little doubt that the Chiss warrior found the other man’s unsuccessful attempt at not letting his discomfort openly show highly entertaining.

Sarreti tried to mask his transgression with a cough, putting his hands behind his back, and taking a moment to compose himself before continuing:

“I was wondering if, perhaps, you would accept an invitation for dinner later this evening. After decades of living on military rations, I am sure you both could enjoy a decent meal. Now, we may be located in the Outer Rim but I assure you that the Bastion’s dining establishments can easily match the ones of the former Imperial Center. Among other things, I am very much interested to know what it is like for an Imperial to live with an alien, and what it is like for an alien to serve together with Imperials.”

It took Parck a moment to realize the offer was genuine. Stent blinked, tilting his head slightly to a side, eyeing the young politician with interest.

“You’re really inviting us out for a dinner out of mere curiosity?” Parck asked in a disbelieving tone, turning his head at the other person who remained in the room and who was observing them from the distance. “No strings attached? No business deals on the side? Admiral Pellaeon, where did you dig him up?!”

Pellaeon smiled slowly, his bristling white mustache broadening. “Upon my recommendation, the Moff Council chose the youngest candidate as Moff Disra’s replacement in a hope that they could easily manipulate the Bastion’s next governor from the shadows.”

Sarreti’s lips marred in a smirk, then he let out a small chuckle. “Grand Admiral Pellaeon has been looking for an opportunity to get one of his own men to the Moff Council for a long time.”

Parck smirked back. _Pellaeon, you sly, old devil._ He exchanged a shrug with the Chiss. Well, why not?

“Very well, Governor, the Core Worlder in me could hardly resist an offer to visit a stylized gentlemen’s club and it’d be great opportunity to show the pale blue wonder over here that human food is something he could actually eat to enjoy, not just to survive.”

**THE END**

 

Here is your little bonus. And yeah, I have a soft spot for Ephin. :-P

 

 


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